


Gee baby, ain't I good to you

by Sucho89



Series: and possibly I like the thrill [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Open your eyes Patricia, Pining, bisexual character of colour, female character of colour, like mark this fic a national park, she's gay for you too, smell the solder, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9923051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sucho89/pseuds/Sucho89
Summary: "Patty, she won't ask, but, Holtzmann might need some help this weekend. She's moving in here."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set before the final scene during the third chapter of [and possibly I like the thrill](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8159185/chapters/19007401).
> 
> This addresses background stuff for chapter 7 of the larger fic, backstory on Holtzmann and the start of a little music thing our two favourite gays have got going on. 
> 
> Enjoy and let us know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> Part of the Ghostbusters Appreciation Week over on Tumblr!

“Patty, she won’t ask, but, Holtzmann might need some help this weekend. She’s moving in here.”

Surprised by the hushed suggestion from Abby across the desk, Patty puts her book down, dog-earing the page as they both send a look across the first floor workspace. Holtzmann’s futzing about in the containment lab, head stuffed inside the chamber where they store the full trap and _lord_ that is not a good location to be sticking that pretty face; Patty has a few other places that might be more ideal. “Moving in here? Why.”

Abby tips her head and raises both hands as if she’s holding the reasons up like weighty trophies. “Money, and no commute. Pretty smart if you ask me.”

She didn’t but Patty gets it, girl practically lives here anyway even without the recent addition of their newly-made up Ikea beds, not that their resident engineer ever seems to need a bed to fall asleep. The amount of times Patty’s caught her face first over a workbench, dangerously close to something hot and-or sharp enough to cut through bone is enough to make a grown woman weep. Lack of privacy don’t seem much of an issue on Holtzy’s end, either, and at least this way she’ll have no excuse not to sleep in an actual bed. Truly a revolutionary idea.

Self-persuasion aside Patty quirks a brow; if Holtzy’s not asking Patty herself, why’s Abby stepping up to bat. “She not ask you?”

“She did, but, Erin and I have that conference this weekend. Upstate.”

She remembers before it’s mentioned, casts the engineer another glance to watch her scoot to the opposite side of the lab on a wheeled stool, coattails flapping behind her looking like a supervillain. And not to jump the proverbial gun but, Patty’s half-thrilling, half-dreading this new turn of events. Holtzmann-and-her shaped events. In Holtzmann’s apartment. No Abby and Erin in a ten-mile radius. Oh boy.

“Got no plans so, why not.”

“Great! You should ask her.”

 

***

 

She’s been playing this over in her head all day, far too long for a grown ass woman to be ruminating on something so simple. Patty’s plunging herself right in at the deep end, walking across the second floor, raising her voice over the Eurythmics ballad blaring beside Holtzmann’s head. Patty’s not opposed to competing with Annie Lennox if it gains her the engineer’s attention.

“Hey baby? Heard you’re moving into the firehouse this weekend.”

“Uhh… yep.”

Holtzy barely looks up from her dismantling of a proton wand (dismantling for what reason, Patty can’t even begin to fathom), turning the music down to a more bearable level for conversation, but that reticent little cringe of a smile definitely was _not_ lost on Patty. “You needing some help? I know a person. She might be willin’ with a few well-placed bribes.”

Holtzmann fully stops what she’s doing, looking at Patty like she’s an unsolved equation, grown four extra heads and begun speaking mandarin, which actually she knows a few basic phrases in. She offers up some clarification with a grin. “Me.”

“Oh. No thanks.”

Holtzy goes back to that screwdriver and her pinpoint stripping of the tiniest-ass screws she’s ever seen. Patty’s frowning because this is not exactly how she expected this conversation to go over in her head. All fifteen times it did _not_ end up like this.

“Abby said you might need a hand?”

“I have two, _thanks_.”

Surprised again by the second reject answer but her girl’s not being sharp, she doesn’t think, more like she’s trying to deflect, so she doesn’t have to speak the real reason. Holtzmann’s hard to read like that, almost fucking impossible in fact, but Patty's grown to learn of the signs by this point in their relationship, when to back off, knows pushing won’t get her any further and it’s not good for Holtzy either. “Okay, if you say so.”

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

Patty’s just walking away, back to her reading couch and that steaming mug of chai when the small voice sounds from behind, turning, surprised again, to see Holtzmann not-quite-but-still looking at her, like she never wanted to say this thing in the first place but it popped out anyway. Patty knows that feeling all too well.

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Holtzmann repeats herself and she feels a pang of sympathy for her girl, knowing she’s trying to say something specific but can’t find the right words. “Baby, we ain’t splittin’ up. What do you mean?”

“I, uh. I don’t want you. I don’t want you to, feel. Like you have to.”

“Have to help?” And with that tiny nod, Patty’s smiling, heads back closer. “Sweetie, I offered.”

“I know. Abby must have told you.”

“She did cos she knew you’d never ask.”

“I would have. If I needed.”

They both know that’s bullshit and Patty’s smirk says as much, Holtzmann knows it too when she glances up, fidgeting the screwdriver tip against the palm of her hand as if that’s far more important than their conversation. So Patty gives her something to bring those tinted goggles back her way, sure as hell, cos it’s true. “You always need me.”

Holtzy looks astonished with that pink mouth gaping wide and points dramatically in Patty’s direction, who can no longer tell if girl’s messing or not.

“You shouldn’t know that!”

 

***

 

"This the place?"

"No. They owe me a debt. I’m here to take it."

Patty can only watch as Holtzmann darts ahead, folded cardboard boxes flapping underarm as she bounds up the stairs two at a time, disappears around the corner of the next flight. Patty follows with a half dozen boxes of her own, yelling up the stairwell to the woman she knows can hear her. "See, I don't know if you're lyin' or not when you say shit like that."

"All part of the fun of being around me."

Holtzmann’s voice echoes down from above, filling her chest with a fondness she’s knows is utterly misplaced, but Patty doesn’t care.

"Ain't that the truth."

 

***

 

“So what in here are you actually keepin’? I got these little red tags to stick on.”

Holtzmann looks pleasantly surprised as she clocks the sticky labels Patty’s holding, uses them in her research files and thought they might be useful here. And she was right, judging by the state Holtzy’s apartment is in. Bafflingly there seems to be nothing in the space, but at the same time, it’s a _mess_. Not here to judge though.

“You sure do think of everything.”

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” Holtzmann cards a look across the pile of crap in the middle of the living room that sends some dangerous shards through her stomach, and Patty’s trying to ignore the feeling by stuffing on something gruff, recalls she asked a question. “ _So_ …?”

“Uh… on that.” Holtzy nods in a vague direction Patty doesn’t catch, piling more and more textbooks into her already over-flowing arms as she balances on a wobbly, three-legged stool in front of the grimy bookshelf she’s been at since they got in. Now pointing a hand she can’t spare at a silver menorah perched up on a lone and crooked shelf in the middle of the wall, and Patty’s cringing with the real-life game of buck-a-roo Holtzy’s playing with herself. “If nothing else. I want that; my parents. They were Jewish.”

Patty knows. “Kinda figured, baby, with a name like that.”

Holtzmann freezes and there’s a moment as if she’s deciding if that’s a good thing, before shrugging it off, going back to plucking out whichever random text book takes her fancy. “Yeah, that’s theirs.”

The little bits and pieces Patty knows about Holtzmann’s life are few and far between; a vague synopsis on a fascinating subject. From Abby she knows Holtzy’s parents died when she was four, that she got dumped into the system with no close relatives kicking around. That her girl never stayed with one family more than a couple of years at the most, and adoption perpetually stood her up on the dinner date of life. Not exactly Oliver Twist but it ain’t that cute new Annie remake either, real tragic if she thinks about it long enough—and Patty’s trying not to, instead thinking of something to say that treads lightly here, sounding as chipper as she can. “Well I got no problem with you having everything of theirs out. Use our dresser.”

Holtzmann seems to still again in her ballet pose, one leg balanced off the stool and she spins a look over her shoulder, breaking out into a blinding grin. Patty's more than relieved for that to have gone down well.

“Thanks, Pats.”

Holtzmann goes back to stuffing more crap into her arms, girl’s a walking time bomb. “What about my staphylococcus collection?”

“Honey, I don’t even know what the hell that is, but… sure.”

 

***

 

“Uhhhh, that’s the kitchen but, you don’t want to go in there. I haven’t for two months.”

“Girl, how’ve you not been evicted yet?”

“Landlord’s in jail.”

Patty pokes her nose in the doorway but decides to heed the warning, she ain’t gonna get any medals for catching salmonella. “Did you put him there? Seems like somethin’ you would do.”

Holtzmann plays along and stares her down, trying to look ominous. It works a little. “Patricia Tolan, you know too much.”

Whatever Holtzy’s selling she ain’t buying, not today at least, and with a sigh to clear this nonsense and hide away her smile, Patty sets down the empty box she’s holding and heads for the main door, grabbing her purse on the way and tugging Holtzmann alongside with a squeeze on her skinny arm. “I know enough that if I’m gonna keep on helping you, I need some food. Come on.”

She can hear the engineer following along with a slam and a scuffle down the steps, Holtzy rocking up a second later, elbows bumping together. Patty’s catching sight of those lenses gleaming towards her in the afternoon sun filtering through the filthy windows of the walk up, and it makes her grin. “I have to tell you. And _Patty_ , you might be surprised here, but: no money.”

“You’re right, I am surprised. You usually wait until we’re at the counter to tell me that.”

 

***

 

“Hey, baby. This yours?”

“Ah, parents. Again. Never heard it.”

“You have an original Etta James and _never_ played it?” Patty holds up the vinyl as if it’s made of spun glass, turning it over and yeah, it has scuffs and scrapes on the sleeve but the record itself looks perfect, and _fuck_. Poking past to where she found it there’s a couple more gems amidst what she expected to see; Diamond Dogs jutting out as Patty leafs through the rest of the stack, eyes bulging as she goes, knowing Holtzy’s still listening. “ _And_ a Duke Ellington? Miles Davis? Girl, you trippin’ if you’ve never played these.”

“Don’t have the doodad that does it. Twirls it. Jams it.”

Holtzy’s spinning a finger towards the ceiling and Patty can’t help but laugh, still looking through the small but impressive collection the girl never knew she had. Well, _knows_ , just doesn’t appreciate. That’s the real crime here.

“I got one. I can bring it in to the firehouse and we’ll play ‘em. Educate you on the gold you're missing out on."

“Gold is extremely non-reactive. And expensive. Impractical for anything useful.”

“Alright Newton, how about dynamite?”

Holtzy’s dimples say it all.

 

***

 

Poking her head into the only other room inside this shoebox, Patty blinks at the sight of a half collapsed twin mattress laid sad on the floor, sat in the cold light spilling through the single window it’s positioned under. A window, she might add, with no curtains or blinds up, and said mattress has, yep, springs sticking out. What in the hell. There’s nothing else in the room neither. Looks like a serial killer’s lair.

"Holtzmann? _Sweetie_?"

She has to wait a minute to see that blonde head pop round the corner of the kitchen like a Jack-in-a-box. Jill-in-a-box Patty thinks, amuses herself. "Tell me you don't sleep on this miserable lookin’ thing."

Holtzmann furrows her brows and waddles on over, poking her head in the door beneath Patty's arm and curls a look upwards once she realises the issue. "Nah. Only once. Got a scar on my back from that night. _Tasty_."

And Patty sort of wants to ask but that's also a rabbit hole she _really_ doesn’t wanna get lost down, trying her damnedest to not think about Holtzy’s waist brushing against her hip, wedged in the doorway together. "So you kept it?"

She nods with a pensive little pout. "I sleep on the futon. Much comfier and got everything I'd _possibly need_."

Again Patty wants to ask but _doesn’t_ , moving away because they're still locked in close quarters and it's making her nervous, and hot. "At least there ain't no metal sticking in you on your futon."

"I never said that."

 

***

 

Stacking the last box into the back of the Ecto, Holtzmann swipes the door shut with a satisfied little smile that slaps one on Patty's own face. The both of them glance back up the steps, to the apartment that’s now locked and left, Holtzy and her stood by the curb.

"You sad to be leavin', baby?"

"Nope. Much brighter where we're heading."

And damn, that's a good point. Looking to the future with her girl makes Patty’s heart thud, that same contented feeling she got when she settled into her reading nook for the first time, because this is an amazing thing they got going, and she’s never taking it for granted.

Holtzy skims past her shoulder, heading for the driver's side and Patty follows her lead, sending a look over the roof of the Ecto but only able to see the top of the engineer's bobbing hair.

"You sure leavin' all that stuff is gonna be fine? Sofa, and the bookcase, and that mattress? Don't want you getting in trouble, honey."

"I gave my forwarding address in Switzerland. Good luck if they find me there."

Patty laughs as she climbs in the passenger side, slamming the door shut with renewed gusto as Holtzy revs the engine, homeward bound. "Anyone who knows you, _knows_ you wouldn't go there."

Her baby doesn't ask but the blank stare on her face does, Patty smirking as she reaches over and taps that pointy little nose.

"Don't have it in you to be neutral."

 

***

 

“Hey, Pattycake. How do you do with big, _scary_ monsters?”

Patty gazes up, over her book, from her slouch across her reading sofa, thing is comfy, could stay here all night… if Holtzmann wasn’t so tempting; girl’s got the worn blue shirt she was wearing at her place tied around her waist, grey sports bra and nothing else on top. Patty’s trying not to _look_ and focus instead on the swaying dvd she’s holding aloft, squinting at the Japanese characters on the case.

“Sort of used to ‘em by now.”

Holtzy smirks and leaps over the edge of the sofa arm, almost landing on Patty’s feet but instead curling a hand around her ankle, feels like she’s climbing in her lap as the movie’s brandished closer. “One of my favourites; a hundred and sixty- _four_ foot giant mutated iguana dinosaur? This has it _all_.”

“I’m familiar with Godzilla, baby. This the original?” And as Patty takes the dvd Holtzy nods, fumbling even with a look keen enough to spark up a fire. “Never seen it though.”

“And _that_ is where Doctor Holtzmann shines.”

Patty smirks, tilts a look past the movie to this lovable weirdo balancing on her hands and knees on the edge of the sofa cushions, and if Patty was any less of a grown-ass adult then she’d shove her girl down, see what that grin tastes of. Probably pop rocks and carbonated soda, and the highly illegal stuff she uses in those explosions, a woman can dream.

Unfortunately she _is_ an adult, a fully fledged one. Which reminds her.

“Don’t you have those boxes to put away before the girls get back?”

Holtzmann waves an unbothered hand, as if the cardboard littering their bedroom is of no consequence. Clearly she doesn’t know Erin. “I can do that tomorrow. Not back until eight. _Sooo_?”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Before that bouncing carries on any further Patty holds up, popping the disc on the table and snatching her notepad to tear off the first page, handing it over. “I pulled this together for you.”

Holtzmann sits back on her haunches with the paper inches from her face, almost cross-eyed as she reads it and Patty explains.

“Those records you got, I made a listenin’ list for you. All the classics and then some. Give you some real taste in music, baby.”

“Are you going to quiz me.”

And _how_ does this girl always take the most innocuous statements and make them sound like a seduction. Forcing down the lump gathered suddenly in her throat Patty’s sitting up and grabbing the dvd, ignores the stare coming at her from over the paper cos she needs to get off this couch. “I might do, not decided yet. Either way, you better do as Patty says.”

Girl stays put on the sofa, follows Patty all the way to the stairs with her eyes while leaning against the back of the thing, waving her arms and intoning gravely.

“ _But if we continue conducting nuclear tests, it's possible that another Holtzmann might appear somewhere in the world again_!”

Must be from the movie, and what on earth has Patty let herself in for is all she can wonder as she starts upstairs, smirks down at her nuclear-powered troublemaker.

“I ain’t willin’ to take that risk, so I guess no quizzin’ then.”

 

***

 

Holtzmann’s taken to wearing her headphones when Patty’s in her nook and she wants her music particularly loud. Patty’s got her own tunes playing from out her laptop, doesn’t notice the engineer’s stopped until she’s melting over the side of the couch ass-first, that pretty face set fast in contemplation and ending upside down staring up at Patty, top of that blonde head grazing her thigh with a thumb beneath her chin, till she’s flicking a finger in Patty’s face. “This is… Ella Fitzgerald!”

The gleeful expression caked over Holtzmann’s inverted features makes her look like she’s about to win big at the dog track, Patty putting her out of the suspense she’s wrapped herself up in, gently pushing the hand aside. “Got it in one. Well done, baby.”

And she wasn’t trying for patronising, but with the way Holtzy scoots herself a foot closer, laying her head on Patty’s thigh and casual-as-you-like settling her hands beneath her head in recline as she sarcastically counterpoints, she doesn’t regret it. “I do have a _P_ , ah- _h_ , ah- _D_.”

Patty merely smirks, reaching over to tap the next artist along, give her girl another test. “Okay then, so who’s this.”

Holtzy perks up, listening for a second like a puppy hearing keys in the door, squinting as she draws her glasses away. “Eeehhmmm… Rosetta Tharpe?

“Nah, Lady Day.” Holtzmann tilts her head, same puppy confused by a command and Patty has to sigh. “Billie Holiday. You not been listenin’ to me?”

“Of course!”

“Man, you know every single Bowie lyric but can’t recognise Lady Day’s voice. You need priorities.”

“That’s different. Bowie’s a legend.”

And she just can’t let this pass, Patty closing her book, levelling a _look_ down to scrutinise the ragamuffin innocently gnawing her radioactive nails. “Girl, you did _not_ just imply, _to my face_ , that Billie Holiday is not _legendary_?”

She simply shrugs, shrugs, like butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth and this is just not gonna sit; Patty’s shoving her book aside but Holtzmann must clock the danger because the engineer’s bolting from her seat quicker than a rat up a drainpipe. Patty’s faster though, snags her loose-fitting trousers by the belt loop and drags her back down with a giggled squeak of protest, hands snaking round those skinny wrists to pin her in place against the cushions with a growl.

“Wanna repeat that, baby doll?”

Holtzy’s laughing too hard, eyes shut and face scrunched up in mirth, shaking her head and letting those messy ringlets flop all over the place, still wriggling like it’ll get her somewhere and wailing like a convict in a bad straight-to-dvd movie. “You’ll never take me alive!”

“I’ve already got you, so stop your whining.” And with that Patty sighs, reluctantly lets her go and Holtzmann’s got a demure little smile on her face, but she doesn’t wander off.

“I really was trying. I listened to the songs you told me all last night.”

Surprised by the sincere assurance, Patty raises a slightly sceptical brow. “Yeah?”

Holtzmann nods but still looks vaguely bashful. “Think I fell asleep after Unforgettable.”

That’s ironic. But Patty lets her off, Holtzy’s starting to look uncomfortable under the scrutiny and she’s not about that, Patty knows she has some difficulties. “You just keep practising, babe. You’ll be dancing round the lab to them in no time.”

 

***

 

Patty’s original plan was to stay with Holtzy through Friday, Saturday and Sunday, until Abby and Erin got home at eight. Turns out the ghost girls’ flight got delayed by half an hour, and then an hour. And after that a _further_ hour. So by the time Patty realises she should probably get going home, it's too damn late for the subway, and she can’t be bothered hassling for a cab, decides it's easier to crash here for the night. And she don't really want to leave Holtzmann alone either.

Girl's been by her side since it was just the two of them and only now has she sounded off, declaring she had to get this new invention out so Patty's been relaxing on the third floor, book and a cup of chai in hand with her feet up. Can't be beat.

Only now it's almost midnight and she needs to get caught up on her beauty sleep. Holtzy's nowhere to be seen in the bedroom, must still be making mischief in her lab.

Side-eyeing the hell out of the stripper pole Patty takes the stairs, yawning as the lab appears while making her way down. The usual smell of burnt metal and sawdust littered with some nondescript chemical hits her nose, it’s familiar and she's used to it by now, has to be with her reading nook in spitting distance of whatever shit wafts over from the workbenches.

She sees her girl perched in her usual place at the table, and as Patty nears can tell Holtzmann's asleep, her baby's slumped forward on the desk, chunky green headphones wrapped around her ears and they sound to still be playing, her mouth's open with little gusting snores filtering past and she's clutching onto the soldering iron—that's _still on—good lord_.

Patty's carefully plucking it from her hand and shoving the thing into the holder with a shake of her head, and that's when she recognises the tune playing from the headphones. _I Get a Kick Out of You_ is tail ending its second chorus and she can't help but smile, leaning in to rub a gentle hand across Holtzy's bony little shoulders, stirring her awake.

“ _Hey, baby_ …”

Patty secretly adores the expression Holtzmann pulls whenever she wakes up, looks like she's trying to remember what happened before she lost consciousness, reboot that brain of hers.

"Mh, _Pats_...?"

"Fell asleep, honey." Girl looks around with squinty eyes, staring at the windows and the darkness through them, the artificial light from the street outside. Patty’s still rubbing her back, can’t seem to take her hand away.

"Hm. Abby...?"

"Still not here."

Holtzy looks discouraged but not surprised, running a hand down her face, there's a cluster of imprints on her left cheek from where she fell asleep atop a bunch of wires. Patty’s changed into her comfy sleep shirt and she seems to realise it.

“You gonna carry me?”

“No, I will not. But how about I read you a bedtime story? One to do with a dashing knight, who gets her ass kicked by another for leavin’ moving boxes all over their shared living quarters, after bein’ repeatedly told to _clean them up_.”

Girl smiles like she’s been caught out and looking cute might help her, and damn why _does it_. “Patty would _never_ be a knight, she’s the princess.”

“Yeah, modern day. Black princess, and the knight’s a Jewish girl. And _I_ save _you_.”

Holtzmann appears to be slightly more awake now, sliding off the stool and inching by Patty’s side, craning her neck up, looking smug, like she’s got away with it. “Admit it. You’d read that book.”

Patty gives her a gentle shove towards the stairs, smile growing as they head up to bed.

“Baby, I’m livin’ it.”

 

***

 

Patty’s busy catching up on her beauty sleep when a door slams shut downstairs, echoing far-off and loud enough to rouse her—must be their ghost girls finally returned, and Patty huffs a heart-pounding sigh of relief. Noise turns quiet then, only Holtzy’s soft snores in the bed adjacent give any further signs of life, and it’s comforting, like the gentle thrum of a purring cat. Doesn’t drown out the small commotion that starts up the stairwell, though.

She can hear Abby trying to be quiet, but the woman doesn’t know what the word _means_ let alone when she’s disagreeing with Erin, those two could talk the hind legs off Mister Ed and sound like they’re doing it now, voices barely hushed. Patty can guess they’re lugging their suitcases up, with about as much grace as she can imagine they might.

Holtzmann’s still out of it but seems to clock the commotion as she flops deeper into her mattress, muttering something soft and sweet in the covers. Patty can see her if she squints in the dark, splayed out like a starfish, threadbare blanket wrapped around her baby’s legs. Her sweatpants are bunched in the leg around her knees and she’s still only got that sports bra on top, and _hell_ , what Patty wouldn’t give to steal into bed beside her. Curl around that warmth and hold her close like she’s everything Patty’s ever wanted.

Goddamn it girl, get your shit together.

This is just plain _sad_.

She’s got no further in contemplating poor life choices when there’s sounds of another laughing scuffle, overhears Erin hiss as Abby chortles something about _ionic bonds, taken not shared_ and it’s official, she’ll be lucky to catch any winks at all till these two _settle_ —which is of course when two silhouettes appear in the doorway, and the taller one unceremoniously goes ass-over-teakettle into the dark, pitching forward with a strangled scream.

The light flicks on and floods the room as Patty jerks up out of bed, blinking just in time to see Erin faceplanted all over the rug, clearly fallen over Holtzmann’s lazy stack of moving boxes and what in the _fuck_ , this is what happens when you don’t listen to Patty.

“Oh my god! Who put boxes in the doorway?!”

Abby’s stood laughing, head thrown back even as she drops down to help, tugging Erin’s arm while there’s a rustle from the other bed, blonde head poking up like a groundhog in Philly.

“My bad. _Sorry_.”

Holtzy sounds anything _but_ , sat up in bed and squinting through the bright light, and if her scrunched up face is supposed to be hidin’ her grin, girl’s not even close to it.

“ _Holtzmann_ , I’m going to _kill_ you. I could have broken my neck!”

The engineer just pulls her mouth down, shrugs her shoulders and leans forward between her own splayed legs, totally unrepentant and why is Patty surprised, why is anyone surprised at this point; this is textbook Holtzmann complete with a goddamn smirk of empirical proportions.

Unharmed aside from her dignity, Erin’s being scraped off the rug by a snickering Abby and aiming a colossal pout right at the culprit, and _lord_ on earth why does Patty hang around with these children, this is worse than summer camp.

“Jet lag’s really got to you, Erin.”

“There’s no jet lag on a _thirty minute_ flight.”

“Erin, you okay?” Patty’s finally able to get a word in edgewise as the physicist brushes herself off, tugs her abandoned luggage the rest of the way through the door while Abby sails past to her own bed, deftly avoiding boxes.

“I’m fine, thank you Patty.”

“Glad y’all are home. Been different without you.” She can’t bring herself to say anything derogatory, truth is it _has_ been different, just not anything bad. And at the way Holtzmann sends her a _glance_ , arms up behind her head and grinning sleepily across the way, Patty finds herself wondering when their next conference might be.

 

***

 

Monday afternoon rolls around and Patty’s down in her reading nook, finally busted out the record player and Holtzy’s unused LPs have been making the rounds. Count Basie is lighting up the soundwaves and the woman herself has taken to the jiving beat like a concrete duck to water, shaking that frizzing head atop her shoulders, cruising through the lab and spinning whatever dangerous instrument she happens to be using at the time round her fingers like a glitter-spangled baton.

Patty’s trying to ignore the risk to life and limb Holtzmann poses to everyone in a three block radius, if she allowed herself to worry she’d end up a nervous wreck. Settles back instead with a flaky elephant ear and a napkin to catch the crumbs, she’s glancing up when Abby pokes down from the third floor, looking much more rested than last night. Her and Erin slept in.

“Oh, _this_ is new.”

The ponytailed physicist’s bopping her shoulders along to the beat just like Holtzy, bobbing heads like a pair of funky chickens as Holtzmann slides into Abby’s orbit, the both of them somehow perfectly in unison and _what_ is Patty witnessing.

She calls over, unable to stop her laughter at the sight. “I’m educatin’ her in the finer arts: less drum and bass, more rhythm ‘n blues.”

“That’s _great_! Holtzmann: broaden your horizons!”

“They’re already pretty broad. Might hurt any broader.”

Girl sends Patty a sly wink across the room that Abby doesn’t catch, makes her feel like they’re sharing a private joke only she knows, makes her warm like a damn summer day in the middle of September. Watches her matching weirdos for another handful of seconds till they grind to a sputtering halt, when Holtzy drifts back to smack a timer into silence and renew whatever she was fiddling with while Abby pokes her nose in.

“Have anything new to show me, Holtzmann? Gadgets? Gizmos? Anything in the works?”

“Nope. Soz. Got a little busy this weekend. Right, Pats?”

Both spectacled gazes turn towards her and Patty feels suddenly on the spot, like Holtzmann’s dropped her right in it with Abby. Which is stupid because they didn’t even do anything. More’s the pity.

“Ah, yeah. Cleanin’ out her old place. Watched a movie. Regular stuff. More importantly, how was _your_ weekend?”

“ _Yes_ , the conference was _amazing_. Erin and I were both pretty impressed. She got into an argument with this professor from MIT but we tore him a new one by the end. So, pretty freaking _great_.”

“Hope he had insurance.”

Holtzy chimes in with a dubious little finger twirl and Patty chuckles, the Abby-mobile successfully diverted onto another topic far _away_ from their weekend together.

“Serves him right. I’m gonna make lunch; you two want anything?”

Holtzy’s gaze flicks to hers, gentle smile on those pink lips before she ducks away again, like she can’t watch Patty for too long, which suits Patty just fine. Girl’s playing games with her heart rate like the goddamn Olympics.

“Nah, think we’re good Abby. Thanks.”

“Alright, suit yourselves.”

Whistling a return upstairs Abby disappears soon enough, and Patty reaches over to flip the record, watches as Holtzmann perks up again to the renewed beat, that atomic fuse lit.

Turns out it’s the length of the song, _Whirly-Bird_ fading into the slower cruise of _Midnite Blue_ that allows Patty to speak up, already missing their time together the day before.

“So when you gonna show me another Godzilla film? Heard there’s a lot of ‘em.”

Holtzmann lights the fuck up, practically glowing like the overgrown lizard himself and bounding across to the couch to flop over the back; girl’s barely got enough weight to rock the thing herself, let alone with Patty in place. Looks like she’s trying though. “I have download links of varying degrees of legality for the next _five_. We can watch one _right_ now.”

Perfect. And Patty’s motioning with her book in hand, reaching up to cup that little chin before her girl’s bounding off, tries not to let herself get too excited. “Let me finish up here baby, then it’s a date.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Pats.”

The wink she flips over one shoulder has Patty’s stomach dropping, twisting up and why the fuck can’t she just _ask her out on a real goddamn date_ —oh yeah, she’s comfortable with this thing they’ve got going, and she’s a coward. Knows it. Doesn’t particularly want to address that fact.

Patty catches herself then, she could merry-go-round like this all the fuck long day, tells herself to stop it. Move on.

So she’s just about to answer when Erin’s screeching down from what sounds like— _must be_ —their bedroom, looks over at Holtzy just in time to catch her ducking behind her desk like a bomb’s about to land, soldering iron still hot.

“ _Holtz! Move these FUCKING boxes_!”

Girl slowly pops her head up like she’s testing the air for fallout, glances Patty’s way as if seeking a friend for the end of the world. And Patty hates to say she told her so, several times on multiple days, _but_.

She fucking _told her so_.

“Baby, go get your damn boxes. I’ll make popcorn.”


End file.
